


Sometimes Quiet is Violent

by Blackprose



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Flashbacks, M/M, POV First Person, Post Game End Spoilers, Saeran POV, Smoking, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 09:06:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10434240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackprose/pseuds/Blackprose
Summary: How Saeran views the world versus reality. Exploring the dichotomy between thoughts poisoned by anxiety and Saeran's actual relationships with the RFA members, specifically Yoosung, 707 and MC.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, thanks for coming here to read my fic ^^
> 
> Going through some stuff lately; writing this has helped me unpack those feelings. Hopefully, you enjoy it as much as I did.

When I listen to him breathe and feel his warm skin underneath my fingertips, I feel like time is frozen. Most nights, I hang half off the too-small bed, legs wrapped around Yoosung’s waist and face buried into his shoulder as he sprawls out like a starfish. I spend my nights listening to the small sounds of Yoosung breathing (and occasionally snoring, much to his chagrin) and that incessant owl that has claimed its home in the tree outside his apartment. I could hear its ominous calls every night as if the owl had a schedule, a quota of hoots per evening.  I pull Yoosung’s pillow, now unoccupied as he sleeps face first on the mattress, and shove it over my face and ears to drown out the noise. Groaning, I open my eyes and squint in the general area of the alarm clock. The only indication that time hasn’t stopped completely is the digital clock flickering as the minutes pass, the only light visible in his bedroom: 4:17am.

I wake up panting – usually I’d sit up straight, but something is holding me down. I panic and dig my nails into the tentacles restricting me. I hear a small whimper, remember where I am, and realize who is making said whimper. I stiffen, my nails retracting like a cat’s paw from Yoosung’s arm, leaving red puckered indents behind. Breathe. In, out, and slow. Did I wake him? I peek through barely open eyes and almost immediately close them, sighing in relief. No, his breathing is too even, and his whimpers have stopped.

A nightmare. What was it even about this time? I don’t care to dig into my short-term memory long enough to find out. I just relax back into the pillow, my fingers trailing the slight marks I made on Yoosung’s arm, willing the gentle touch of my fingers to magically lift away the marks. I am being melodramatic, truthfully – this was nothing compared to other episodes of mine.

I try to swallow my ever-present anxiety as it bubbles inside me, alert and aware. I picture a snake, cold and crawling up my spine, waiting to seize hold of my rationality as if it were an underfed mouse, an easy target. My therapist told me grounding helps with anxiety attacks. Take in your immediate surroundings, I remember her saying matter-of-factly in a soothing, almost robotic voice, like she had recited this line daily. What is happening around me right now? I force my heavy eyelids open.

It’s so serene I should feel calm; instead, it feels suffocating, like a blanket fort when it collapses on top of you. It’s no longer a haven, it’s a net that has you trapped inside. I can hear people outside, doors slamming down the hallway, muffled voices through the walls, and cars zooming down the road – all noisily existing outside his one-bedroom apartment, but by the time the sound reaches my ears, it’s droning and soft; easy to acclimate to. I begin to untangle my limbs from Yoosung, reclaiming some of my personhood. Still asleep, he apparently notices my absence and reaches his arms out, fingers grazing my bare chest, and he wraps his arms around my ribs to pull me closer; a small smile plays on his lips for a moment, before relaxing back into a neutral expression. If I wasn’t feeling so smothered, I would have seized the opportunity to continue watching his sleeping face; lips slightly parted, breathing through his mouth rather than his nose, small barely noticeable freckles on the bridge of his nose, blonde hair falling into his face, and small dark hairs on his upper lip.

It was about a year and a half ago when Yoosung first noticed he was growing facial hair. It was negligible, literally peach fuzz, not even noticeable unless you were as close to his face as I was - or if you were Yoosung, examining his face in the bathroom mirror as he stood two inches away from it. He was on the tips of his toes, leaning over the bathroom sink, razor in his hand as he placed it tentatively against his skin.

“What are you even doing?” I remember asking as I stepped into the bathroom.

“Shaving?” Yoosung had turned to look at me, and flashed a sheepish smile, “I want to look cleaned up for you.”

“Is there anything to shave?” I replied, hand moving to my face to feel for stubble. There wasn’t any. I never had any. And neither did Yoosung, despite his insistence.

“Hey!” Yoosung’s voice brought me back to reality, “I’m an adult now. I need to shave and provide for my boyfriend.”

I couldn’t respond; I just stared at him, my blonde cutie with soft skin, who was holding a razor almost defiantly as his cheeks started to turn pink, as if his body wanted to directly contradict his words. He looked so precious. He didn’t end up shaving that day, setting the razor down forcibly as I watched his cheeks puff up in a pout.

Yoosung mumbles in his sleep and rubs his eyes. The sunlight peeks through the blinds, creating a hazy early morning heat that leaves me sweating and sticking to Yoosung in all the places our bare skin is touching (which is pretty much everywhere, considering we only sleep in boxers now). Maybe we should’ve turned on the air conditioning last night. It was only spring, yet it felt sweltering in this little hole in the world. I need to open the window lest we consume all the breathable air.

More whining from Yoosung as I fully detach, our skin reluctantly ripping from each other with a small suction noise, and I reclaim my body as I stand up and open the window. The cool morning air comes rushing in and I sigh contentedly as it begins to fill the room, dust in the air swirling in the sunlight peeking through the blinds. I take this moment to gaze up at the sky, pushing one row of the blinds down to take a peek. Clear skies.

“What time is it?” I hear his small voice murmur, muffled by the pillow.

“8:15,” I reply simply, watching as his hand reaches out blindly, groping the light blue sheets for the blanket. When his fingers find it, he starts to pull it over his body and head. Now all I can see is an indiscriminate lump covered in a starry night sky blanket. “Don’t you have placement today?”

Silence, aside from his tiny groans; he isn’t asleep.

“Don’t remind me,”  he finally says. “Can I just call in sick and spend the day with you?”

“What happened to ‘an adult needs to provide for his boyfri…’” I lose my sentence halfway, the words dying on my tongue. I am not interested in opening that tangled mess right now. I turn back to peek at the sky, a shaft of sunlight blinding me as I squint to get a glimpse of the wispy and transparent excuses for clouds.

Yoosung used to be on the wrong path in life. He went from being an honours student with a full scholarship into SKY university to barely passing his classes and spending all his time gaming instead. I remember reading the conversations back in the chatroom, back in a different life – back when I used to hack. Even though I was emotionally stunted, not ever being able to feel anything instead of anger, fear or panic; even though I had an emotional range of on/off, I could _see_ the kid wasn’t okay. The other RFA members spent their time berating him, teasing him, or putting him down. It was like they expected Yoosung to find closure when they never legitimized his feelings. If the girl I had lured to the RFA didn’t pan out, I felt I had another opportunity to exploit a weak link with Yoosung. And hey, if she ended up working out, then it would be a highly entertaining side-show to watch this little shit dig himself deep enough into a hole that I wouldn’t need to invite him to paradise. He’d **willingly** fucking join.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The alarm clock screeches, effectively (and thankfully) breaking my chain of thought and cutting off whatever Yoosung had to say in return (which, clearly, was not much, since it took him several minutes to even start to respond). We make eye contact and I can see the pleading look in his eye as he looks from me, to the alarm clock, and back to me. I maintain his gaze for a good few seconds, enough to get my point across, then turn away and start to walk to the kitchen. I hear shuffling and a loud smack as Yoosung hits the snooze button on the alarm. I can only assume the whooshing sound I heard afterwards was his face hitting the pillow again.

My thoughts as I open the fridge and bend down to survey its contents are of breakfast and the need to satisfy an unyielding hunger, like I had just run a marathon in my sleep.  Aside from some milk, eggs, and leftover pizza, it’s bare. Yoosung has a variety of condiments, though: soy sauce, ketchup, hot sauce, parmesan cheese, cream cheese frosting. Wait, what? Why does he have frosting? Oh, right - the cake. If I bend down enough, I can see the contents of the bottom shelf covered, and in the back corner wrapped in cellophane is a cake with the words “Happy Birthday, MC. Love Yoosung and Saeran” adorned with two lopsided stars and a cartoon heart.

My mind flashes back to a few nights ago, when we were baking the cake. Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting; that’s what she requested from Yoosung. I remember grumbling;  why did Yoosung have to do the baking when Jaehee owns a fucking coffee shop that serves that damn cake? It was only halfhearted, however – I could see the look on his face when MC asked for the cake from _him._ His eyes lit up in a way that made heat flare inside my chest; jealousy. I had witnessed his pathetic attempts at flirting with her when she first entered the chatroom. He was honest enough to understand his place when she clearly showed more interest in Saeyoung. However, I know how much Yoosung cherishes feeling needed, and I couldn’t deny him that feeling. So, I didn’t say anything.

Fortunately, baking the cake had been much more fun than I anticipated; I could feel my lips twitching at the memory of Yoosung’s flushed face as I fed him frosting from the tip of my finger, among many other places. I was more rough that evening than usual with him, leaving red scratches and bite marks down his neck, chest and on the insides of his thighs. He didn’t complain, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that night that he saw right through to my core, which was coloured black with jealousy. He said nothing, and instead submitted his whole body to me. I should have felt embarrassed that I was taking out my emotions on him; I wasn’t, though. I just felt in awe that I had someone so intuitive that he could see my feelings and reassure me without saying a single word. These were the marks I preferred to leave on him; consensual ownership, not domination.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The alarm again. Then, silence, followed shortly by feet hitting the floor and the sound of socks on hardwood, shuffling zombie-like to the bathroom.

“Breakfast?” I call out. The fridge was starting to whir loudly from being open too long. I let it fall mostly closed as I stood up.

“Yeah,” he replies lazily.

“What do you want?”

“Omelette and rice.”

I should’ve guessed.

Thirty minutes later, Yoosung steps into the kitchen fully dressed and more alert. He is wearing scrubs, light blue, and his nametag reads “North Lake Veterinary Clinic” with his name underneath, beside two holographic yellow stars that he stuck to it. He leans in for a kiss and his breath feels warm on my lips. It was short lived. He pulls away, squeezes my hand, and sits down in front of -

“What is this?” he asks, poking the plate with his chopsticks.

“Omelette and rice?” I respond.

“Are you sure?” He laughs. I feel annoyance flare up inside me.

“Don’t eat it then.” My words came out harsher than I intended them. I sit back in my chair, leaning slightly, hoping it made me look less interested in the conversation than I was.

“No, no,” he quickly backpedals. “I’ll eat it. It’s just a little… burnt?”

He was right; it was burnt. Even the rice had turned brown in the rice cooker while I wasn’t watching. Isn’t this thing supposed to cook rice perfectly _without_ supervision? I sigh and run a hand through my hair. I don’t often cook without Yoosung there, and when he’s out, I mostly just eat cereal, or pizza pockets, or whatever else is readily available to eat within the five minutes after I discover I’m hungry.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my annoyance fizzling out as quickly as it had sparked to life. Instead of responding, he just smiles radiantly, and I can feel warmth in my chest. What did I do to deserve that smile?

After he leaves for placement, I finish my breakfast (cereal, of course) and slink back into bed for some more sleep. Pulling the covers up over my face and breathing in Yoosung’s scent, I fall asleep to the noises outside, now loud and vibrant with the window open.

***

Saeran has entered the chatroom.

 **Saeyoung** :  MY DUMPLINGS BIRTHDAY PARTY IS TONIGHT EVERYBODY~

 **Jumin** : Yes, we are aware.

 **Saeyoung** :  You’re coming too Saeran? Can’t celebrate without my other half!

 **Saeyoung** : Wooooooo~

 **ZEN** : Where are we meeting again?

 **Saeyoung** : Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~

 **Jaehee:** I recall MC saying the bar on fifth.

 **Saeyoung** : Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa~

 **Yoosung** **★** : Oh, I know that place! My friends have invited me there before. Saeran and I will be there for sure ^_^

 **Saeran** : Do we have to?

 **Jaehee** : Mr. Han, your 3pm meeting is here.

 **Saeyoung:** Why is everybody ignoring me? T_T

 **Jumin:** What?

 **Saeyoung:** Does no one appreciate my Waluigi impression?

 **Jaehee:** I just had a flashback to the worst moments in my life.

 **Jaehee:** Please ignore that.

 **Saeyoung:** Let me waluigi again.

 **Saeyoung:** *clears throat*

 **Saeyoung:** Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!~

 **Jumin:** Hm. Well, you appear to be correct.

 **Jumin:** Maybe my black magic is working.

 **Jaehee:** ????!?

Jumin Han has left the chatroom.

 **ZEN** : Ignore that jerk, Jaehee.

 **ZEN:** I’m going to practice. See everyone tonight.

Zen has left the chatroom.

MC has entered the chatroom.

 **MC** : Ready to get crunk tonight?!?!?

 **MC** : Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah~

 **Jaehee** : Crunk?

 **Saeyoung** : BABE. <3

I roll my eyes as the conversation starts to derail. Why did I even log onto the messenger to begin with? I skim the text as MC, Yoosung, and Saeyoung get into a heated discussion about the Mario franchise and its apparent decline in recent years. Sure, there were more games being made, but were they the same quality? I didn’t care. Nor did I really notice, since I didn’t get to play any video games growing up. I turn my attention to the ceiling in Yoosung’s bedroom, staring at the tiles, feeling a peaceful blankness on my mind as I count them. 300. I turn back to the chat.

 **Jaehee** : Oh, the oven! I’ll see everyone tonight.

 **MC** : I’ll be right over, Jaehee.

Jaehee has left the chatroom.

 **Yoosung** **★** : Saeran, why are you being quiet?

 **Saeyoung** :  DO YOU NEED A HUG.

 **Saeran** : No.

 **Saeyoung** :  I CAN BE THERE IN 20.

 **Saeran** : Again, no.

 **Saeyoung** :  I never see you anymore! You haven’t been home in a week.

 **Saeyoung** :  I hear MC lying awake at night sniffling because of you.

 **MC** : Think you are hearing yourself, babe.

 **Saeyoung** : Do you like seeing her in such DENIAL?

 **Saeran** : How is that puppy doing, Yoosung?

Time passed, and while there was plenty of conversation in the chatroom – none of it came from Yoosung. Why was he being so quiet?

 **Saeran** : Yoosung?

 **Yoosung** **★** : Oh, sry, got called back.

 **Yoosung** **★** : Gotta go bye

Yoosung has left the chatroom.

 **MC** : Gotta go too. See you guys at 8 tonighttttt.

 **Saeyoung** : GONNA SMOOCH YOU SO HARD TONIGHT.

 **MC** : Or maybe right now?

  **Saeyoung** : I meant Saeran.

Saeran has left the chatroom.

That was weird. Was he avoiding the question? He would be working until 6 P.M. tonight, maybe I could visit him at the clinic after work, and we could eat dinner before meeting everyone.

Now, for my clothes. I thought about wearing the brown knitted sweater Saeyoung had bought me. I put it on over my head, grabbing the loose neck and allowing myself to indulge in the sweet smell that clung to it. It smells of the bunker – it smells like my brother, Honey Buddha Chips and that earthy cologne Jumin gave him as a birthday present last year that MC liked the smell of. The sweater was too big, making me feel small and safe in its depths, like I could retreat into it like a turtle in its shell if I felt my surroundings were too threatening.

I move over to the mirror to inspect myself. This sweater makes me look fragile and broken. Unhappy with my own reflection, I remove the sweater and toss it on the floor, opting for a more traditional look of mine, one that will ensure people don’t approach me at the bar to chat.

 ****

Leaning against the wall outside the veterinary clinic, I watch the glass door adorned with a paw print and a bell, expecting my boy to step out of it any minute. My phone is lodged in my pocket and I struggle to pull it out from my too tight skinny jeans, and when I finally do, it reads 5:55 P.M. - a little early to be expecting him out. I stash my phone in my jacket pocket.

I tap my back pocket and feel the familiar weight; my fingers stretch out to reach for its contents, but at the last moment, I find my willpower and instead clench my hand into a fist and rest it on my hip. I hadn’t heard from Yoosung again throughout the rest of the day. He usually texted me first. I look forward to receiving his messages without prompting him; it helps my anxiety to make me feel wanted. Otherwise, I’d just always feel like he was messaging me back out of obligation. I feel like Yoosung understands that, too, but today I didn’t hear from him at all; no quick messages about his day, no adorable photographs of that puppy or any other animal he’s treating, no selfies of his shining smile. Maybe I should have questioned it, but I didn’t. If there was something bothering him, he’d tell me. He had always come to me when he had something to talk about. Still fidgeting, I shoved my hands into my jacket pocket and thumb the lighter inside as I thought about my impulse purchase.

Besides that, Yoosung was like an open book; even the rats in the next city over knew when something was bothering him. It is something I cherish about him – I don’t need to look for subtext, he always just tells me what he’s feeling. It was refreshing that I didn’t need to read into every gesture or facial expression. Maintaining eye contact with strangers is exhausting for me. Why do people interact like this? The lighter had somehow made its way out of my pocket and into my hand, where I flick it on and off, listening to the whoosh and click it made each time it sparked and came alive.

Man, I’d love a cigarette right now. I’d had a momentary lapse of willpower when I was walking in here and had bought a pack of smokes at the convenience store. It was small enough to fit in my back pocket, and easy enough to forget about – at least, it would be, if you weren’t hyper aware of your nerves. Right now, it felt like a missed text message, silently existing in a way that you couldn’t ignore. It demanded my attention… or at least, that’s what text messages felt like to me.

The doors to the veterinary clinic open with a small jingle and a brunette mother and daughter walked out with an energetic golden retriever. I make eye contact with them as they pass, watching the mother’s smile change from cheerful to uneasy as she, her daughter, and their dog pile into an SUV. She gives me once last glance before pulling away and driving to the street. I guess I must have looked intimidating; leather coat, tattoo clearly visible, black choker around my neck, white and pink dyed hair, and a lighter dangerously close to my face as I continue to flicker the flame on and off. I hadn’t changed my hair even after Yoosung had asked me to. “Why don’t you let your hair go back to brown?” I’d retorted, somewhat too venomously. If he wasn’t interested in changing something superficial that he thought would attract girls, I certainly wouldn’t change my hair when it was meant to make me look different from my twin.

I stand up straight and move to the other side of the building, one where no one immediately leaving the clinic would see me, including Yoosung. I hear the small clatter of his LOLOL pins as I shove Yoosung’s backpack between my legs; I had filled it with his clothes (and MC’s stupid fucking carrot cake) before leaving, knowing we probably wouldn’t be coming back to the apartment until later.

This time when I reach into my back pocket, I pull the box of cigarettes out, and flip it open with my thumb. My hands tremble slightly as I lift the cigarette to my lips; anxiety from the anticipation of our upcoming night at the bar, and the social obligations associated with it, I tell myself. Why had I even agreed to go in the first place if even thinking about it set off my nerves?

I could already smell the sweet smell of unburnt tobacco. Blatantly disregarding the glaringly obvious No Smoking sign above my head, I hold up the lighter and watch it flare to life as I puff the cigarette. Smoke fills my mouth and my lungs – burning and calming simultaneously, followed by a sharp cooling sensation, like inhaling after chewing extra minty gum. It had been a good idea to buy menthols. My hands look visibly less shaky – maybe due to the tobacco, but more likely since I had something to keep my hands and mind occupied. That sweet, sweet placebo effect.

I peek around the corner for Yoosung. Still no sign of him. What time was it? Shoving the smokes back into my pants pocket, I rummage through my jacket pockets for my phone. It read 6:10 P.M.

That was odd. I quickly finish my cigarette in a few long puffs and stamp it into the ground, while already thinking of excuses to guard myself against Yoosung when he smells the tobacco on my breath.  Blonde and blue blur past me as I look up from my phone. Yoosung didn’t notice me standing beside the building under the no smoking sign. (That had been the point, right?) Hastily, I take a few steps to reach out and grab his arm as he passes by; he looks surprised, eyes widening, but his reaction time is slow. He looks at the hand on his arm absently, as if he can’t be bothered to acknowledge it yet. When his eyes finally crawl up my torso to my face, his whole body appears to relax and his eyes soften before he closes them.

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes still closed, and he leans onto my chest. I reach up to smooth out his hair. He turns to look up at me and I settle instead for stroking his cheek with my right hand. My smoking hand. _Shit._ The excuses start to pour into my brain, as I mentally select one to arm myself with when Yoosung notices the awful smell on my fingers. I’m feeling nervous; I never go to bars; I hate drinking, at least let me _smoke_ ; it’s really no different from your LOLOL addiction if you think about it; I don’t bother you about your school attendance; I’ve been good lately, haven’t I?; it’s not like we’re even together, so why do you care? That last thought stung.

But I never had to use them. He pulls away, not saying a word. It was only then that I notice how tired he looks. His shoulders slump forward and his eyes, while full of affection as he looks at me, look distracted, as if he was suppressing a torrent of emotions. His blonde hair falls into his face despite his hair clips. I found myself tugging those clips out and fixing his soft hair; he stays silent as I reclip them, eyes closed again.  

“I brought you some clothes.” I hand over his backpack I had brought with me. “I thought we could get dinner before the bar.”

“I’m not hungry.” He had visibly perked up, but I could see that this didn’t apply to his eyes. There was something there that was off. I thought about asking what was bothering him. I didn’t, though. He would tell me; he always tells me. He knows how much I hate reading into body language. Maybe I’m just reading him completely wrong and he’s okay? This is exactly why I can’t ask. There might be nothing wrong, and then I’ll start a whole chain of ‘are you sure you’re okay?’ and that literally never ends well – not for girls on message boards whining about their boyfriends (I may have searched for relationship advice at some point,) or for Saeyoung and MC when they fight (I had lived with them for two years,) or for me, someone who lacked the codex to this emotionally encoded cipher.

So, I didn’t ask.

***

Since Yoosung wasn’t feeling hungry after work, we didn’t eat. He insists I have something instead, but I wasn’t hungry, either. I had spent most of my day in bed, sleeping on and off because of my insomnia. I hadn’t done anything to work up an appetite, and even if I had, I couldn’t bring myself to eat either. Seeing Yoosung look so apathetic made my stomach turn, uneasiness settling into my brain and effectively blocking out hunger. Instead, we take a walk around the dog park near the veterinary clinic.

We stroll along the less used paths, hands held between us, and opt for the secluded path between the evergreens, my favourite. Most owners don’t bother taking their dogs this route in favour of the large green field, I guess but that’s precisely why I like it. There are sounds here that are fundamentally different from the noises outside Yoosung’s apartment window: water streaming, birds chirping, and wind rustling the trees replaced the usual car zooms, slammed doors, and screaming kids. I don’t prefer one over the other, I just enjoy having the opportunity to listen. It feels like freedom.

Once we get far enough along the trail that I can no longer see the field or road, Yoosung lightly tugs on my hands to stop walking.

“Hmm?” I turn to him. “What is it?”

The look in his eyes makes me positive there is something he wants to tell me, like he was starting to piece together the sentence before his lips slightly part and he leans into me instead, brushing against my lips and latching onto me with a desperate fervor I had rarely seen in him. My thoughts drown in the neediness of his kisses, and I forget the melancholic look he had given me entirely.

We enter the bar shortly after eight.

“Over here!” MC stands up in the booth and frantically waves us down. Saeyoung joins her shortly after, waving in an equally frantic manner. Jumin panics comically as he momentarily loses his grip on his wine glass as MC accidentally elbows him. She doesn’t even seem to notice as she continues to wave with both arms high in the air. The way she sways makes me think she has already had a few.

Luckily, she is blocked from leaving the booth by Saeyoung on her left and Jumin on her right, so she leans across the table as far as she can instead, practically climbing on top of it and her stein of beer to hug Yoosung. Saeyoung leaps in heroically at the last moment and captures the stein as it begins to tip precariously under MCs overly large beige sweater.

She was far enough away that I could avoid the hug by simply not approaching the table. She wouldn’t have hugged me anyways – not since _that_ night a year ago. Ever since then, she looks at me with an ever-present coldness. It dominated every expression she made towards me, even her smile.

I take a seat next to Jaehee, who smiles wordlessly at me. Sitting next to her was always a good choice. She doesn’t give me the poison filled glances Jumin has perfected, which he fixes me with each time he looks over out of the corner of his eye; and she isn’t overly touchy, like Zen. In fact, sitting next to Jaehee is more like sitting next to a barely familiar acquaintance. I don’t need to worry what she thinks of me, because she literally can’t be bothered. It relaxes me to know I don’t need to perform in front of her, to pretend to be less anxious or less broken than I am.

My eyes wander back to MCs, whose gaze I can feel boring into me. Her eyes look unfocused as she ponders me, not quite making eye contact, as if she is staring at my forehead or nose instead of my eyes. In truth, she is looking through me to her own thoughts, to whatever monstrous version of me exists in her head. I can practically see the gears turning when the occasional knowing spark flares in her eyes: _You haven’t changed_ , it reads. It feels true. I can’t maintain eye contact. I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly feeling parched. I can tell she hates me. Who wouldn’t? I hate me. I regret the noxious and sexually charged insults I directed at her each time I had a meltdown. I hope she knows it was never about her; I just wanted to hurt Saeyoung.

I inhale deeply and hold my breath, trying to quell the freezing anxiety I can feel creeping its way up my body and constricting my organs. Instead of thinking, I focus on my fingernails, black paint flaking off as I pick at my cuticles until they are agitated enough to burn.

Stop it, stop it, stop it. I say it over and over in my mind, as if chanting those words will produce a magical spell that halts any invasive thoughts. It doesn’t.

I remember that night vividly, yet in a detached sort of way. It felt like I was having an out of body experience, like I was sitting in the corner of the room watching the scene unfold as my body functioned autonomously. I was having a night-terror about Mint Eye and about how everything I had experienced after Saeyoung liberated me was a lie, a drug induced fairy tale. Like most dreams, I didn’t question the logic and allowed myself to get swept up in the raw feeling of knowing whatever happiness I had achieved would disappear like smoke in my grasp. 

“Saeran! Saeran, are you ok?”

Hands on my shoulders, light visible through my eyelids, panic driving my heartbeat to its max, my body felt like a car that someone has just slammed down the gas pedal on – loud rumbling drowning out the hum of the radio, my brain. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. I opened one eye cautiously. The overhead light was on. There was someone nudging my shoulders, and they sounded concerned. When I turned to face them, my blood ran cold. Yellow hair. Blonde hair. I knew that colour. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed Rika away – not this time, no, please, no more. I’ll be good. I must have said something out loud. because the voice spoke again.

“Saeran…” That voice again. “What? No, look at me…”

“Please.” My voice cracked.

“Look at me,” the voice said again. It had felt demanding, but in hindsight, it was probably more of a plea.

“No!” I screamed, my voice unhinged and hysterical. I threw one hand out and tangled it in Rika’s hair. I don’t know how it happened but shortly after I stood up on the bed, yanking her up with me forcefully. She cried out. I felt a rush, hearing her sound so weak, and I took advantage of it by throwing her down to the floor. She crashed into the bedside table as she fell, the lamp tipping over and smashing. Her sobs left me feeling exhilarated. The shattering glass sounded like victory.

I stood there panting for some time, eyes unfocused. Then, I threw my head back and laughed. I stopped abruptly when the sound of a phone dialing hit my ears and _his_ voice picked up.

“Yoosung?” came the static filled voice at the other end of the phone. “What’s up?”

“Saeyoung, it… it’s Saeran,” the voice responded. “Please come, he’s… he’s-“

“What the fuck!” My voice came as a surprise even to myself and I leapt from the bed to the floor, fueled by nothing but adrenaline and greed, that greedy desire to hear Rika cry out again; to hurt her like she did me. I ripped the phone out of her hand and smashed it into the wall. The phone cracked on impact and thumped to the floor, drywall flaking from the wall like a dust cloud. Rika was still laying on the floor, and I loomed over her, avoiding her eyes and focusing only on that disgusting blonde hair. There was something rough in my hand that felt like microfiber. I snuck a glance and saw it filled with knotted blonde hair, wrapping around my fingers like earth worms as I flexed my knuckles. Hair from when I threw her, a small voice in the back of my mind told me. My stomach lurched.

“You’re disgusting,” I said. My voice sounded inhuman to my ears.

She was whimpering now, but I couldn’t be stopped. I shook my hand until the tufts of hair fell to the floor and towered over her.

“He doesn’t love you.” I parroted her words, words she had thrown at me for days, weeks, months that I was stuck inside a damp homemade prison cell in the basement of a castle in the mountains. But today was different – we weren’t at Mint Eye anymore. Oh, no, no, we were on **my** turf. I reached down, tangled my hand into her blonde hair, and pulled her head back to look at me. I wanted to see the fear in her eyes, and the rapid pulse of her heart beneath her jawline. “He’s abandoned you.” I wanted to see her so painfully alive so I could watch as the life trickled out of her one heartbeat at a time.

I loved this. I got off on this high, this feeling of power. The smirk on my face was genuine for once. I didn’t need to fake anything; I felt everything. I was vibrating, shaking on this newfound power. I licked my lips suggestively. How else could I humiliate her? My mind was buzzing with possibilities. A few chuckles escaped my lips, low and raspy.

“Now, what should I do first?” I said. But my smirk had fallen as soon as I saw purple. What? Rika’s eyes aren’t purple – they’re green. Who is this? The room spun – my blissful high crashed as my grip loosened in Rika’s hair... no wait, this wasn’t Rika’s hair. It was the same colour, but…

I remember biting my lip so hard I tasted blood as my head hit the wooden floor beneath me, cushioned only by the star adorned plush rug I knew Yoosung kept near his bed. Someone had pushed me down, had towered over me and pinned my wrists above my head.

“Saeran, stop it. You’re not at Mint Eye anymore!” The forceful voice broke through the fuzz in my brain. Instead of blonde hair, I could only see red – backlit by the overhead light, it looked like it was on fire. My body felt like it was on fire – I felt heat inside, as if all the blood in my veins had turned to lava. I felt like I could die – I wanted to die. What had I done? Recollections of the past few minutes flooded into my head, rewinding and replaying simultaneously, tortuously, unendingly. I fucked up.

I lifted my head as much as I could to see past Saeyoung, to see if I could catch a glimpse of Yoosung. I knew I probably shouldn’t. I could feel the alarms blaring in my mind. If I was going full speed before, then now I had crashed. Irreparable, broken, better off to be scrapped than to be fixed. I looked anyway; I needed to see him.

Yoosungs face was obscured as he openly sobbed into MCs shirt; his entire body was shaking and even with the droning screech in my ears, I could hear his wails, enraged and utterly defeated at the same time. There was blood trickling down his cheek, tracing a dark red path down his neck and forming a bloom in his pajama shirt. He must have hit the lamp when I threw him. Guilt and self-hatred coursed through me, originating in the deep crevices of my rotten heart and pumping to every limb in my body with my blood. I stopped resisting Saeyoung. There was nothing to resist anymore; I had ruined everything.  

Saeyoung noticed and loosened his grip, but otherwise didn’t move.

And that was it. My worst episode. Saeyoung had slept with me in Yoosung’s bed for the rest of the night while MC and Yoosung slept on an air mattress in the kitchen. Slept is a relative term here – I don’t know how much sleep I got between moving in and out of lucid, waking nightmares, haunted by the raw, fearful look in Yoosung’s eyes. The way he’ll look at me from now on, I remember thinking. I don’t know how much sleep Saeyoung got either, sleeping beside his shattered brother, his arms around me like a vice, as if he could transform love into magic that would seep into my skin and fix me.

After that night, I had left Yoosung’s wordlessly and went back to the bunker. I didn’t talk try to talk to Yoosung for weeks. I never logged into the messenger. Everything was unappealing – food, socializing, television, books, cigarettes, even sleeping. I begged Saeyoung to give me sleeping pills – anything to shut my brain and body off for a few hours. He complied reluctantly.

I didn’t talk to Yoosung until after my suicide attempt. I thought it would be easiest if I just disappeared. If Saeyoung had let me go outside, I would have preferred to do it under the sky, where I could see the clouds and the stars. Without going into the details too much, I had taken an entire bottle of sleeping pills I found in the back of the kitchen cupboard. MC and Saeyoung must have missed this one. I downed the entire bottle in a few handfuls. I don’t remember falling asleep. I don’t remember my final thoughts. All I remember is waking up in a brightly lit hospital room; golden hair and lavender eyes looming over me, tears dripping onto my cheeks in a way that reminded me of a leaky kitchen sink. _Yoosung._ I thought I was in heaven; I had seen an angel.

Stop it, stop it, stop it. My chant hadn’t worked. The entire memory had replayed without my permission, and now I feel weak and emotionally exhausted. Why am I like this?

Yoosung is sitting on the opposite end of the table. He might as well have been across the ocean, he felt so far away. I thought about looking at him, in hopes he’d see my expression and immediately take me home, but I couldn’t. As much as I wanted to leave, tonight wasn’t about me. I don’t know if I can even look him in the eye right now, anyway.

After that, I didn’t suggest we try the relationship again. I had only asked him why he was there at the hospital. He didn’t seem to understand why I asked. He simply said that he loved me. I didn’t know I could feel so much dread inside me when he said those words. I just asked him to hate me, instead. I told him I wasn’t interested in trying this again, that it was a mistake.

He had one condition: that I seek actual help, by a therapist who I won’t assault, and that I won’t give up, no matter how hard things got. I agreed. He added that we didn’t need to be in a relationship; he just wanted to see me make progress. It had been over a year since then, and I hadn’t attacked anyone again. Yoosung and I slipped back into a routine where we would text and call more often than just friends. Then it turned into spending more time together than friends. Never once had we defined what it meant for our relationship when we started fucking again and I stopped going back to the bunker. It was easier this way; Yoosung didn’t feel tied down to my dead weight, and I didn’t feel any pressure to be a good boyfriend. But if we weren’t dating, what were we?

“Yoosung, my dude!” I hear Zen’s voice and look up as he slings his arms around Yoosung’s shoulder. He brings him close for a squeeze and lifts his cellphone to take a selfie. “Smile!” The cellphone camera activates its flash, momentarily illuminating the darkened booth they are sitting in. Yoosung blinks several times afterwards, probably seeing stars.

Further down the table, MC starts hissing and swats Zen’s hand. “Do you really need to take pictures right now?”

“It isn’t every day our girl turns twenty-three,” Saeyoung chimes in and leans close to her, rubbing his nose against hers before quickly kissing her lips. Even from here, I can see the drastic shift in her demeanor when she looks at Saeyoung compared to when she looks at me. Is it even possible for someone to drip venom and sugar in the span of five minutes? Not that I don’t deserve it. Zen leans over Saeyoung and lifts the phone; the flash goes off again, giving Zen a selfie of himself pointing behind him to the loving duo with a pout on his face. MC pulls away from Saeyoung quickly and buries her face in his chest, wrapping his hoodie over her head.

“What, no selfies? The fans deserve to see this beautiful face.” Zen is speaking to MC, but winks at me. My cheeks start to feel hot. Is he mocking me? Beside him Yoosung smirks, and the light that I cherish seems to return to his eyes momentarily. Zen stands up unceremoniously and pushes Yoosung’s shoulders. “Let’s go get a drink.” He tosses his head behind him, gesturing to where MC and Saeyoung have begun kissing again.  “Give them some privacy.”

“Excuse me?” Jumin’s voice comes from a few seats beside me, low and curt. “And what about us?”

Zen looks unfazed as a smarmy grin crosses his face, “You could use the practice, right?”

Jaehee’s jaw drops, and she brings her drink up to her face to hide her blatant shock at that statement. Jumin, as always, looks unfazed as he crosses his arms and regards Zen with a look that rivals Medusa. I shiver and silently thank the gods that he can produce a look more charged than the one he shoots at me.

Instead, Zen sticks out his tongue: “Jaehee’s got too much self-respect, right? I guess you need to find someone else to boss around now. I heard the search for a Jaehee replacement isn’t going well.” With that, he and Yoosung shuffle off to the bar.

A few seconds of silence, and the sound of fingers tapping on the table rhythmically.

“How is the coffee shop going…” Jumin pauses, then finishes his sentence. “…Jaehee?” He looks uncomfortable calling her by her first name.  

“MC and I just added a new cake to the menu. I read somewhere that deep mocha with 100% Arabica beans can complement dark chocolate in such a perfect way that one of our lattes cannot be experienced without the cake. We’re even considering adding it to our menu as a combo item.”

I listen to Jaehee drone on as MC sat on the other side of Jumin, having apparently concluded her make out session, gulping down beer in large swigs and nodding enthusiastically with each word Jaehee spoke. She props her elbow up on Jumin’s shoulder, leaning into him and swinging her glass as she spoke, cutting Jaehee off to add minor details. Each time she did, Jaehee responds with “Right,” reaffirming MC’s words and continuing.

Eventually, I stop listening and focus on the boom of music overhead as it gains volume and starts drowning out their voices. The night at the bar was just beginning. I can feel my anxiety flare up as I watch the conversation; Jaehee had turned towards Jumin and MC, effectively blocking me out. Yoosung and Zen are at the bar, downing shots and laughing as Zen periodically stops mid-sentence to pose and type something on his phone before returning his attention to Yoosung. I roll my eyes: is he really documenting this on social media? At least Yoosung looks more lighthearted. The bartender sets another round of shots in front of the two men and Yoosung turns to Zen, brows furrowed. In response, the bartender points over his shoulder to an attractive woman in a skin-tight dress across the bar as she waves to Zen, moving only her fingers and seemingly beckoning him over to her with a come hither stare. He tosses his head back as he downs the shot but pays no more attention to the woman. He turns his attention back to Yoosung, who looks relieved as he lifts the shot, pausing mid-swig to snort and double over in laughter at whatever Zen said.

Seeing him smile eases my worries, but does nothing for my anxiety. My fingers tremble and I suddenly feel like another cigarette. The music booming overhead makes me feel like I am suffocating, and I try to fidget with my nails, anything to escape the incessant beat of my heart and blood pulsing in my ears coupled with the overwhelming boom of the bass in whatever pop song was currently playing. It isn’t working. I begin to use my nails more roughly, picking off black nail polish and haphazardly digging my nails into my cuticles. My cuticles start to bleed; the pain brings me slightly back to reality.

I can’t rely on Yoosung to comfort me again. I need to learn to deal with it myself. I can’t keep running to him whenever I have a slight problem. He deserves to have a night out with his friends, to enjoy an evening out as a single guy. When I sneak a glance back at Yoosung, I can see that the woman in the skin-tight dress has approached him and is currently running her fingers through his blonde hair. I had assumed she was flirting with Zen. Anxiety twists my stomach into knots and starts moving upward, a feeling of ice settling into my chest, my breath coming out quicker now. This is good, right? He _is_ single…

Then, a warm hand on my head and a glass clinking down on the table directly in front of me. The dark drink set down in front of me fizzes as I stare at it, brows furrowed.

“I don’t drink, Saeyoung,” I say, momentarily flicking my eyes upward.

 “I know that.” He ruffles my hair. “It’s Ph.D. Pepper.”

“No thanks.”

Saeyoung audibly gasps and lifts his hand to his face dramatically as he clenches a fist directly over his heart with his free hand. “How could you! My own brother!” He laughs at his own joke and points his thumb at the air directly behind him. “Want to go outside for some air?”

“What about MC?”

At that, Saeyoung’s eyes drift behind him to where MC, Jumin, and Jaehee are still engrossed in conversation – except now it looks like MC has dominated the conversation, swinging her empty stein wildly as she speaks with dramatic hand gestures.

“She seems busy. Let’s go.”

Anything to get out of here.

***

Driver Kim gives us all a ride home after the bar. He drops Zen and Jaehee off to their respective homes first; next was our turn, and last was Saeyoung and MC, who live right on the edge of town.

Saeyoung and I had to practically carry Yoosung into the car. I hadn’t been watching him when he was drinking. Usually, he could handle himself. Tonight, he seemed to either unaware or uncaring of his limits. Remembering the look in his eyes from earlier, I wondered if it was the latter. If something was wrong, why didn’t he just tell me?

After getting into the car, he plops beside MC and slumps into her, both of them laughing and hugging each other unabashedly while arguing over who loved whom more.

“Your cake... wasn’t – isn’t – wasn’t it amazing?” Yoosung slurred. “Saeran and me – we baked it together.”

“What…” MC looks at Yoosung, obviously intoxicated, with half-lidded eyes and a perplexed look on her face. “I got… I didn’t get no cake.”

“WHAT.” Yoosung sits up and gestures to me. “The cake. It’s in there – the, the, the…” he frowns, looking for the right word, “…the satchel!” he finally says, triumphantly.

“The backpack?” I ask stoically. I packed the cake earlier. I unzip Yoosungs backpack and rummage through for the cake.

It looks awful. The plastic wrap had smudged the icing, making it look glossy and squashed. Even the words on the front “Happy Birthday, MC. Love Yoosung and Saeran” were no longer legible. I prefer that. My name didn’t deserve to be on that cake anyway. I hand the cake over to MC, who grabs it clumsily. She spends a second too long staring at the cake with an unreadable expression on her face before she bursts into tears and throws her arms around Yoosung, almost hard enough to drop the cake on the seat.

“I should remind you yet again,” Jumin says curtly, readjusting his tie. “If you stain or spill anything in here, it’ll be your name on the dry-cleaning bill.”

MC isn’t listening. She pulls away from Yoosung and places a chaste kiss on his cheek. I clench my teeth. She pulls the plastic wrap away from the cake with the tips of her fingers and takes a bite, shoving her entire face into it, icing dusting her nose and cheeks. She hums as she chews.

“’S good,” she mumbles, mouth full with another bite.

“I knowwwwww.” Yoosung pokes his finger into the cake, staring at the icing on his finger a bit too long before making eye contact with me as he licks it off his finger. “Saeran helped me make it.”

Yoosung winks; he was undoubtedly remembering what happened _after_ we had put the cake in the oven. It suddenly feels stifling in here.

“Oh, Saerannnn.” MC parrots Yoosung’s tendency to over zealously pronounce syllables when he’s drunk. She reaches out her arms to me,beckoning me in for a hug.

I stiffen and instinctively back away, leaning as far away as I can without realizing I’m leaning right onto my brother. He grabs me firmly between the shoulders and pushes me towards MC, who imprisons me in a bear hug. She fluffs my white hair.

“Your hair is so soft, just like my dumpling’s. Are you two related?” Her laugh is earnest and heartfelt, but also extremely loud and grating right against my ear. “Oh right, duh.”

She seems to have answered her own question before I even speak, then she leans in and gifts me with a warm and sticky, icing-filled kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you, Saeran,” she whispers, nuzzling the spot she had kissed with her nose.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she doesn’t hate me anymore. I blink back tears.

***

It takes both Saeyoung and I to get Yoosung into his apartment. I’m starting to get a little worried he might vomit, judging by the way he’s swaying. He hooks his arms around Saeyoung’s neck and shoulders while I hold his waist to keep him steady. He’s pretty much dead weight, only moving his legs when I tap the back of his thigh.

“What’s up, cutie?” Saeyoung asks as he tries to pry Yoosung’s arms off his neck. Yoosung holds on a little tighter, and moves a little closer to Saeyoung.

“Red hair is nice,” he breathes. “Saeran, you should grow your hair.”

With that, Yoosung lets go of Saeyoung and stumbles forward independently, hands hanging onto the wall for support. When we finally reach his apartment, he misses the keyhole once, twice, three times. I reach out and pull his keys from his fingers; Yoosung wraps his hand around mine and I wiggle to transfer the keys to my free hand. He laces our finger together as I unlock the door and swing it open.

“Time for bed, Yoosung.” I turn my head towards him and witness his wide, dopey smile. Unlike in the dog park earlier, the smile hits his eyes. I step forward and pull him by our linked hands into the apartment and towards his bedroom. Behind Yoosung, Saeyoung has gone quiet as he steps into the doorway.  

Yoosung flops down on his bed dramatically, his face burying into the pillow I was using today. My eyes catch my brother’s. Saeyoung has his hands self-consciously tucked into his jean pockets as he lowers his head down to look at me, a question in his eyes. I nod briefly and step in behind him to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” Yoosung says, sitting up on the bed.

By the small sound of his voice, I can already picture the doe-eyed look he is giving me. I shut my eyes.

“I need to go back to the bunker.” My words unintentionally come out in a whisper.

“Please stay, Saeran.”

I open my eyes, and wince apologetically at Saeyoung. He removes his hands from his pockets and pats me on the back.

“I think MC can keep missing you for another night.” He isn’t talking about her.

By the time I see Saeyoung out the door and walk back to Yoosung’s room, there’s a vacant hole of rumpled blankets and pillows where he once sat. From the kitchen, I hear a small thump. I move towards the sound.

Yoosung sits on the floor of the kitchen, back up against the cupboards under the sink and beside the fridge he left slightly ajar. In his lap is the leftover pizza box, strewn open as he takes a bite out of cold, leftover Hawaiian pizza. He grimaces as he chews, and then thoughtfully picks off all the pineapple and deposits it in the corner of the pizza box.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be eating my half of the pizza.” I take a seat next to him, leaning my head back on the cupboard doors until I hear a quiet thump.

“It needs hot sauce and parmesan cheese,” Yoosung mumbles with a full mouth.

After a few minutes of silence, the fridge begins to whirr loudly. Yoosung doesn’t seem to notice it between bites, so I sit on my knees and reach across him to tap it shut. I’m still on my hands and knees leaning horizontally over him when I feel his slender fingers twist into my hair and pull me roughly towards him.

“Ah! Ow, wha-“ My sentence is muffled by his lips as he kisses me sloppily. His lips are rough and chapped. His tongue licks my lips and I open my mouth in response. He has the same urgency he had earlier in the park. I can feel his breath dusting my cheeks each time he exhales; he smells like beer and pizza. His hands yank my head back as his lips latch onto my neck, sucking hard. I moan unabashedly, impressed by his confidence as he switches to littering kisses down my neck, his hand in my hair still firmly holding my head back. There’s part of my mind that reminds me he’s drunk.

His fingers play with the edge of my t-shirt, rolling it in his fingers before lifting it up over my head. I aided him, lifting my arms up and moving the forgotten pizza box from Yoosung’s lap. Our lips crash together. I settle onto his lap and our crotches rub together teasingly. He reaches one hand down and palms me through my jeans. Another moan escapes my lips. He isn’t in control of himself, I forcibly remind myself, and flex my open palms on his chest. My first step toward ending this before it goes too far. Yoosung leans forward and I can feel his breath hot on my ear as he nips my earlobe playfully.

“Hatefuck me,” he growls in a raspy, lust-filled voice.

A bucket of cold water wouldn’t have been any more effective in this moment. I jerk my head away from Yoosung and sit up, palms firm against his chest as he tries to pull me back. I hold his surprised gaze long enough for him to see the pain in my eyes.

“What?” His eyes are still half-lidded. He blinks excruciatingly slowly and licks his lips. “You used to all the time at Mint Eye, right?”

I can’t listen to this. I scramble out of his lap, stand up and cross the kitchen to his bedroom. I hunch my shoulders and keep my neck down, repeating a small chant in my mind: disappear, disappear, disappear. I’m not going to have this discussion right now.

I didn’t notice Yoosung approach me from behind until I felt his grip on my shoulder, turning me around. The mention of Mint Eye had sapped all my confidence, and suddenly I revert into to my former self: insubstantial and uncomfortable in my own skin. I avoid his eyes.

“ _Look_ at me.” He sounds exasperated.

I listen. Yoosung’s eyes are accusatory and filled with unshed tears. Both his hands grip my shoulders tightly.

“Why won’t you hatefuck me?”

“I… I…” I stammer, but find no response.

“I deserve to know!” His voice is gaining volume.

“Because I don’t hate you!” I respond, my voice rising to the same pitch. “Jesus Christ, Yoosung. Why would I ever fucking do that?” I grip his forearms; he’s trembling. “I’ve been spending all this time trying to get better! Trying to forget that damn place.. Why would I ruin that by –” I bit my lip and press on “-by hate fucking you?” The words feel slimy on my tongue.

He releases my shoulders to use the sleeve of his shirt to collect the tears dripping down his face.

“You obviously do. Why else do you act so cold? Why did you stop texting me first? Is it because I pressured you to still be my friend? Is it because I told you I still loved you? You never said anything when we started hanging out again, or when we started… started making love again.” He rubs at his eyes roughly, like he’s trying to scrub all his feelings off his face. When he looks at my face again, his eyes look bloodshot and puffy. I start lifting a hand to touch his face but he swats me away with a grimace and a huff. “It’s because you hate me, right? You have to by now. I’m basically forcing you to stay with me. Yoosung, the kid,” he chides himself with a self-deprecating laugh, “always clinging to someone – first Rika, and now you.”

“Yoosung, I don-”

“Is it because of all the times I wasn’t there to help you during your breakdowns? Saeyoung was always better at it than me. Did you know I even went to a therapist to learn better coping methods? So… so I could help both of us when something bad happened. Saeyoung texted me every time you had a breakdown at the bunker after you got out of the hospital. He probably thought I’d rush over to help. I ignored them to play LOLOL instead. At least in that world I feel like a hero, like I’m accomplishing something.”

“P-please stop.” My voice was barely a squeak. My heart constricted painfully. I didn’t know Saeyoung was doing that.

“What’s next on the list of times I fucked up? Dying my hair blonde – the same shade of blonde as Rika’s. I told everyone it was because I thought it would get me a girlfriend but it was actually because I wanted to look in the mirror every day and see that part of her was still with me, even after she died.” He lifted his hands to make air quotes as he said the last word.

“I never asked Saeyoung to do that.” Yoosung was throwing too much information out there; I couldn’t process it all fast enough.

“And then staying in school to become a vet. I literally pursued this so I could feel like I was doing Rika’s memory justice. So I could help animals and stop what happened to Sally from happening again. I didn’t want to see anyone cry again because they lost their puppy, but I couldn’t even do _that_ right. Why wouldn’t you hate me? I’m a failure.”

That’s what this was about.

“The puppy at the clinic?”

Sometime during his monologue, he had slumped to the ground. He was seated there still, head buried in his knees as he openly sobs. I finally understood. Why he wanted to skip placement today, why I had barely been receiving messages from him, why he looked so sad in the park before he kissed me – he was waiting for me. He was waiting for me to do anything other than pointedly avoid the subject of us. He was waiting for me to show genuine interest in him. I was only thinking about what he could do for me, my problems, and my anxiety. Shame crept its way into my tornado of emotions on top of the ever-present fear, anxiety and panic.

“His name was Podo,” Yoosung begun, pausing between breaths to sniffle, “He was three months old. He had gotten sick… a respiratory infection that got into his blood stream. I-I recommended antibiotics but they weren’t – it wasn’t the right dose. Not for a complicated infection. And the vets, they… I’m far enough in my school, they didn’t check my math…”

I sit on the floor in front of him, cross legged and tentatively put my hand on his knee. The sobs wracking his body had left him shaking.

“Of course he didn’t get better after the prescription. I told the family we’d keep him overnight for observation. His fluffy head was so small when I put him in the cage, and he looked so trusting. Like…like he _k-knew_ I was going to help him get better,” Yoosung finally looks up at me, eyes wide. “When I got there in the morning, one of the overnight staff told me that he didn’t make it.”

“Yoosung, you’re still learning.”

“That’s not the point! If I had paid more attention during lecture, if I didn’t stay up every night playing LOLOL… maybe I would’ve known enough to save Podo. But I didn’t and I wasn’t. Things always leave or die when I’m involved - like Rika and Sally,  or Podo or… or…” He turns his eyes away and sighs raggedly, as if maintaining eye contact with me physically hurt him. “…or you, Saeran.”

“I’m right here.”

“Yeah, but you only stayed because I asked you to. I saw the look you gave Saeyoung. You were going to leave, for real this time!” He clasps his hand over mine, still resting on his knee. He lowers his voice to barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to.”

This was the conversation I had been so adamantly avoiding until now.  

“I just thought…” I bite my lip.“…I thought that you shouldn’t be tied to dead weight like me. I’m not going anywhere, Yoosung – I’m always going to be this fucked up. Daily life will always suck, and I didn’t want you to feel obligated to stick around. I saw that lady at the bar who was flirting with you and thought, ‘This is his chance.’ His – your – chance to move on.”

Yoosung stares at me, unblinkingly, an unreadable expression on his face. I search his eyes for insight but for once, they’re stoically unintelligible, like I had lost the ability to translate a language I was fluent in. Seconds pass like minutes and then I hear his laugh, raspy and low and warbled by tears.

“What? You mean the lady in the short dress who offered me the ‘night of my life?’” He laughs again. Yoosung raises our hands up to his face and presses his cheek to the back of my hand. “I told her I was gay.”

It was a shock to hear Yoosung say it so casually.

“Are you?” I ask without thinking.

He ponders for a moment, and turns to kiss the back of my hand, “Well, no. I still like women, too, I think?” He reaches his other hand out and beckons me to come closer until my cheek is resting in his hand. His thumb drags across my cheek bones. “All I know is I’ve never felt this way with anyone else, male or female. Just with you.”

“Just... me?”

“I love you, Saeran.”

“I love you, too, Yoosung.” And I meant it. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed saying those words until I did.

The tension in the room had melted away. After that, Yoosung and I brought out all the ugly bits of our relationship that we had been suppressing these past few years; my guilt over that night I attacked him, over V’s death, over Rika’s relationship to both of us, his LOLOL addiction, his placement at the veterinary clinic, and our codependence.

 I was finally able to ask for him to forgive me for attacking him that night. It took several tries and plenty of gentle words from Yoosung before I could even word it correctly. I knew I didn’t deserve forgiveness; that any type of relationship we engaged in would be considered abusive… but Yoosung just said yes. He’d forgive me. He’d still love me and he’d give me a second chance.

Yoosung asked me to forgive him for all the times he ignored Saeyoung’s text messages, for not rushing to me when I needed him. There wasn’t anything to forgive, but I told him I forgave him anyway – not because I needed to say it, but because he needed to hear it. The way the tension melted away from him after I spoke left me wondering if I had looked the very same when he forgave me. Like the weight of self-doubt and ruminating thoughts had been erased. I started to see the sun in Yoosung’s eyes again, a breathtaking sparkling lavender.

Then, he asked me to be his boyfriend again. This was the second time Yoosung had asked me out. I kissed him instead of responding. I opted to whisper out a small “yes” onto his lips between kisses. And with that, the contract was sealed.

Yoosung was my sun. Literally all the good I had ever done in my life was tied to him. Being with him made me feel that everything bad or immoral I had ever done was worth it, if it led me down this path. Seeing him shine gave me the courage to tackle my anxiety every day, to attend therapy and try to live a normal life. His enthusiasm was contagious. It was selfish of me to think he had an endless supply. That he’d never burn out like I had. I hadn’t thought it was possible. When I saw his sunshine fade, I ignored it and hoped he’d revitalize himself like always; after a good sleep, or a good game of LOLOL. I should have supported him more. I know that now.

When I turned to Yoosung wrapped up in my arms, I reconsidered why I had seen him as the sun. I had projected that role onto him; the sun which represented my abstract idea of freedom, something I didn’t often see at Mint Eye.

Instead, I pictured a faint shimmer of stardust sprinkled throughout the darkness we endured together: it represented hope. Life was hard. My anxiety, his work; our emotions as individuals and as a couple. It would never be easy, but feeling this glow we produced together made me feel like it was all going to be worth it, in the end. We just needed to find the strength to face every day. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya.. so, a few items to note:  
> \- Yoosung canonically likes hot sauce and Parmesan on pizza, I have the screenshot to prove it  
> \- I suck at grammar. Commas are my natural enemy.  
> \- This is the first creative thing I've written in at least 5+ years so hopefully you enjoyed it.  
> \- I headcanon YS as pan and Saeran as gay  
> \- I practically listened to Car Radio by Twenty-One Pilots on repeat while writing this fic and used a line from the song as its title. 
> 
> I'm [Blackprose](https://blackprose.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [@LikelyRogue](https://twitter.com/LikelyRogue) on Twitter. Hit me up to chat or buy me a [coffee](https://ko-fi.com/blackprose)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please read my other works!


End file.
